


You Can't Get A Man With A Gun

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:05:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15052868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Though Rebecka Standish is seriously considering giving it a try.  She's just about had it with Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins.  Shy and reserved he may be, and she understands that, but really, just how long is a woman supposed to wait before she loses her patience??!   While Meghada listens and tries to provide support and a little advice on that side, the GUYS try to give Gil a hand in their own inimicable fashion.  The results are just about what you'd expect!





	You Can't Get A Man With A Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Several months after that 'Duration Plus Six Months'.
> 
>  The reference to dealing with bullying preachers? Under the Hogan's Heroes string, story "The Weaker Vessel" recounts one such occurrence.  
> The story of the Red Duchess and her townman was told in the GG string, 'Hello, Dolly'.
> 
> Obviously this one was inspired by "You Can't Get A Man With A Gun" by Irving Berlin  
> From 'Annie Get Your Gun'.

"You're a fine shot, Rebecka. Couldn't have done better myself, a clean kill, no damage beyond what was necessary," Meghada offered approvingly, as Rebecka Standish handed over a fine brace of quail and a bucket of walnuts to Meghada, an expression of her thanks for The Cottages letting her do a little hunting and 'shopping' in the forest section to the rear of their property - game and nuts and mushrooms and fiddleheads and much more.

The Reverend's sister shrugged, "well, someone needed to be able to add to the larder back home, and you know Daniel is blind as a bat without his glasses, and WITH his glasses, not much better. That genial smile he has for everyone when he's preaching? That's just so no one knows he is preaching to a big fog bank. Told me once he prefers it that way, so he's not singling anyone out when he has to give 'gentle guidance' as to any particular lapses. He says it keeps the temptation to give a reproving frown at bay, just the thought of handing that frown over to poor Mrs. Wilson instead of to Seth Crowder two rows back, where it really belongs! And he trains the parishioners to address him first, so he can recognize the voices; HE puts it out that it's a sign of humility and respect on his part - it's vanity, poor thing, start to finish! In the beginning, I'd stand behind him and whisper who was who til he could get their voices down. Had a dreadful time telling old Mrs. Anderson from Mr. Arbuckle for the longest time!"

They both laughed at that, but gently. Rebecka loved her brother dearly, was more than grateful that he had encouraged her to make her home with him when it became needful, had made it a comfortable decision for her. And Meghada, she appreciated the Reverend Standish and his kindness, his accepting that his were not the only ways, and not trying to run roughshod over those with other ways, not trying to use the power of the pulpit as a bully club on them or others of the village. Not that she would have let him get away with it, of course; she and her sisters had a firm way of dealing with such, but still, it was nice not to HAVE to take such actions.

"Anyway, our uncle taught me to shoot after Daniel almost peppered him AND his favorite hunting dog for the second time. I think Uncle Alex could have tolerated the risk to himself, but old Meddy, well, that just couldn't happen again; poor old girl just didn't deserve that. Many a long tromp through the woods we had, Uncle Alex, Meddy and me, and a full bag we'd bring back most times, meat sometimes, but all the other good things the woods had to offer too. It kept food on the table, which on a country minister's income wasn't so easy. It's a skill that hasn't left me, though not doing me as much good as some others I WASN'T so well trained in," Rebecka said ruefully.

Meghada bustled around, getting the tea strained and ready for pouring, adding that decanter for a little reinforcement. "I can't see any lack of talents, Rebecka. In fact, you have any number of admirable skills."

Rebecka sighed, "aye, well for all the good they do me in ONE arena! But all the womanly arts? Well, I grew up in a male household, my father, my uncle, Daniel, nary a woman around except for the widow who came in to help with the heavy cleaning once a season. And the few in the vicinity? No help there, them telling me as a female in a religious household, I just didn't NEED, in fact, it would be inappropriate to learn all those little ways of attracting a man. So, I learned to read and write, play and tune the piano, and repair the roof, clean the chimney, tend the garden, to split wood, to do all kinds of things, including to shoot. I'd trade a good bit of it sometimes for learning how to flirt, how to cast those alluring looks under fluttering eyelashes, how to maybe even simper a little! After all, you can't get a man with a gun! If I tried, we'd have Ben Miller knocking at the Parsonage door, now wouldn't we?"

By now, the slightly fortified cup of tea was having a bit of an effect on the lady.

Meghada had choked a little on that, but this new Rebecka was one Meghada wanted to know better. Oh, she'd liked the old Rebecka quite well, otherwise she wouldn't be sitting at the kitchen table right now, but this new one? She seemed more of a kindred spirit.

"Well, you can, you know. Just depends on what condition you want the man in afterwards," a knowing grin on her face, having 'gotten' a few herself with a gun through the years, though perhaps with different objectives than Rebecka seemed to have. "I've known many a man who made a decision to change his ways after a bullet or a good load of buckshot made contact; more than a few much the better off for it."

She didn't mention those who no longer had the opportunity to change his ways afterwards; a friend Rebecka was, but still that was probably too much information to be sharing over tea, no matter if it was 'reinforced' or not. 

"Seriously, though, Meghada, I'm at my wits' end with that man! I THINK Gil likes me, I certainly got that impression during that awful mess with the Playmaster, and a couple of other times as well, but for all the showing now, I might be ninety years old, bald and toothless! I smile, he smiles back, but nary an offer for a Sunday afternoon stroll, no matter how I hint. I invite him to tea, he sends ever so polite regrets. The word I get from Mrs. Wilson is that he thinks I'm 'above him', that it would be an insult if he made any hints, any approach; that he would be encroaching if he mistook my 'lady-like kindness' for anything more and made advances. Well, that's nonsense, and you and I both know it. I'm the daughter of a country minister, the sister of another of that sort. I have some education, but I'm living in my brother's house, acting as quasi-hostess, directing the orphanage and doing some good there, but nothing that would preclude me from . . ."

"From marrying a good dependable man like Gil Rawlins and making a home of your own?" Meghada asked knowingly. 

"Exactly! I swear, I've even started reading those foolish romantic novels and actually making notes! You know the type, or," giving her hostess a rather dubious look, "maybe you don't," not sure she could picture the capable and reputedly dangerous Meghada O'Donnell simpering and swooning over the antics in those books.

"The heroine twists her ankle in a fall from her horse and her reclusive but ever so handsome neighbor carries her back to the house and falls in love immediately. Never mind Gil is skinny as a rail and I'd probably do him an injury if he tried carrying me three feet! Not to mention no horse! Or she's kidnapped and the man she's secretly loved since childhood miraculously appears after twenty years to rescue her and realizes how much he's always cared for her. Hasn't seen her since she was six, but nevermind that! Or, for the more modern thinking woman, maybe he falls into a pit of quicksand and she, with her clever thinking and quick action, ties together vines and pulls him to safety, and they vow their eternal devotion right there, though where THAT one found a pit of quicksand in the middle of Mayfair, I'll never know! The only one I've read that has a gun in it, the hero is shot by the heroine and in nursing him from a grevious wound, he realizes what a treasure she is. The authoress never addressed how he felt when he realized she was the one who shot him. And no matter how annoyed I may get, I really don't think shooting Gil is the answer!"

Meghada was almost snorting her tea by now, never having been one for the reading of that particular overblown type of romance novel, but thinking she just might get in a few. She thought reading those aloud of an evening would have both Goniff and Craig in stitches. Goniff's indignant reaction to "The Sheik" when Julie and Lynn had been rhapsodizing over it, had been memorable, something along the lines of "ruddy 'ell, 'Gaida! The bloke's a bloody rapist! Why's everyone moonin over 'im? Needs a whip and a sharp razor, 'e does!"

While Meghada had been more than half in agreement with him, still, she was well aware that the courting methods of her own Clan were sometimes rather outrageous, as witnessed by the story of the Red Duchess and her townman. The look on Julie and Lynn's faces, them noting only the 'romantic' side of things, well that had been quite something, though. And Craig, of course, he just sat there and laughed at so much drama over a book. Well, Craig was usually the practical one of the family. Usually, though he did have his moments. 

"Well, we'll just have to find a few ways to throw you two together. Sometimes proximity can have its effects."

Rebecka took another lady-like sip. "Maybe we can replicate a few of the things that seemed to bring you and your Goniff together?" and this time Meghada did spit her tea, though she apologized for it afterwards, most fervently. Just the THINKING of some of the activities that had brought her and her blond laddie together, transposing the faces of Gil Rawlins and Rebecka Standish, {"oh Sweet Mother! Please don't let me spit my tea out again!"} thinking of a few choice events, not to mention the danger, mayhem, confusion and occasional bloodshed along the way.

Still, throughout the evening, her mind kept straying back to that morning after Goniff had recovered from the incident with the Miggs family, that interesting little episode in the kitchen, not to mention the few little occurrences in the garden that had proved so detrimental to her herb patch.

Finally, Goniff frowned over at her, "you feeling alright, 'Gaida? Something wrong?"

She swallowed heavily and forced that silly grin off her face, "no, laddie, I'm fine, why?"

Craig's voice was dry and knowing when he nodded at the cards she'd just laid down. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because that would be a winning hand if we were playing five-card stud. But since we're playing gin???"

And she'd started laughing and confided the problem to them, leaving out her little transposing of faces on those interesting little remembrances, some of them not even CRAIG being privy to. 

She really should have known better, of course; she knew Goniff quite well. And knowing he would for SURE involve the others, well . . . Later she would wonder just what she'd been thinking all around!

The letter came from Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins, at least, supposedly it had. Somehow, the wording, even from the beginning, sounded far too, well, refined (not to mention more than slightly derivative if not totally plagiaristic) for the rather plain spoken man. Meghada found her lips trembling as she read the romantic missive, "My dearest Rebecka - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art . . ." She just couldn't go on.

Rebecka was pink faced, not from embarrassment, but from trying to hold in her laughter. "You HAVE to go on! You haven't gotten to the best part, right after that ink splat, right there, see? "A nature's changing what she's athinking about,". 

Meghada snickered. "Ah, yes, I remember overhearing a conversation in the library about whether you were supposed to be talking about 'courses' in a letter to a lady, and Casino wanted to change it to 'curses', but Chief said that was worse, so I guess this was what they came up with. I particularly like this bit, "nor shall death brag bout it's getting you lost somewhere on the shadowy side of the street," - As I recall, I heard Goniff protesting using 'wand'rest in his shade', saying, and I quote, "ruddy 'ell, Casino, can't go talking about yer wand to a lady! That just CAN'T be right!"

And their giggles filled the kitchen.

"What do I do, Meghada??!"

"Why, you answer him, of course. Something along the lines of your receiving his charming letter, and how impressed you were with his warm poetic nature. Maybe adding how much you look forward to discovering just what other talents he's been hiding beneath that reserved exterior?"

The flowers, a large if rather haphazardly arranged mixed bouquet in a very elegant cobalt blue and white vase was delivered to the door of the Parsonage mid-morning, just a scrap of paper tucked inside, "With all my undying afection, Sargeant Major Gil Rawlings". 

That was about an hour before Meghada realized her front flower border had been decimated. When Meghada mentioned that to Rebecka at afternoon tea at the Parsonage, a highly-amused if somewhat apologetic Rebecka brought out the china vase filled to overflowing, "look familiar?"

Meghada had stared, then shook her head brisky as if to clear it, "you might want to watch out for that ferny one with the tiny yellow flowers, that's tansy - can give you an awful rash if you're sensitive to it, along with that sprig of poison oak off to the side, of course. And the vase, eventually, I'd rather like it back. My great-grandmother brought that back from a trip to China, Yuan dynasty, circa 1300 or thereabouts. Carried it wrapped in her spare coat, on a yak, as the story goes. From 'Gil'?"

"Oh, certainly, though for some reason he's forgotten how to spell his last name, amongst other things."

Meghada only nodded with some resignation. Rebecka's lips were quivering, "same sort of answer? A thank you for the 'charmingly arranged bouquet' that so clearly points out his sensitive nature?"

"Aye, that should do quite well. Sometimes confusing a man quite thoroughly is just as effective as shooting him, Rebecka." And the tea party conversation wandered off into realms probably best not mentioned to anyone not present.

The lavish box of candies, bon bons, Rebecka brought over to show Meghada. "From 'Gil' again," holding the box out to Meghada.

"I'm not one for sweets, thank you though. Are they good?"

"I wouldn't know, I haven't tried any yet."

Meghada looked into the open box again, at least three pieces very obviously missing, then snorted, "aye, he'd not be able to resist, would he??! Probably hoped no one would notice!"

"I've already prepared a thank you note. Oh, and you HAVE to see the note that came with the candies! It quotes from the 'Rubaiyat', if you can believe that, though not quite as I remember it, rather more suggestive. Another 'improvement'?"

Meghada read the note and shook her head, "no, actually just the John Leslie Garner translation, not the Edward Fitz Gerald one you probably are more familiar with. And your return note?"

"Oh, some sincere if rather coy appreciation of his 'slighty naughty' though terribly romantic impulses!"

Meghada rather wondered what their solid, dependable Sergeant Major was making of all this.

"I tell you, Lieutenant . . . I mean, Craig. I think I'm losing my bloomin mind! Just look at these! READ these! Do any of these sound like things I'd be likely to do??! Bloody poetry, flowers, candy - to a lady like 'er??! 'As Rebecka, I mean 'as Miss Standish lost 'er mind, or 'ave I??!"

Craig Garrison read the notes, remembered that conversation with Meghada, with (oh, groan!) Goniff sitting right there and shuddered, wondering what else was in store. Obviously Meghada was in on this, up to her earlobes; he rather doubted Rebecka Standish was taking this tack all on her own. And since even Meghada wouldn't have formulated all of this out of whole cloth, (well, probably not, though she had her moments too!), that meant Goniff, probably all of the guys were involved, involved and motivated! When his guys got motivated, they got inventive, and when they got inventive . . . 

He groaned again, out loud this time, getting a puzzled look from the harried Sergeant Major. Garrison tried to get a grip on the situation.

"Gil, maybe she's trying to drop you a hint, in a lady-like manner, you know. You said she's invited you to tea at the Vicarage, and no matter what you say, I don't think she invites just anyone to sit across the tea table from her, you know. And you told me you'd almost gotten up your nerve to ask her to join you on a Sunday afternoon stroll, thinking it seemed like she sort of wanted you to, but you backed out, thinking she might not take it kindly. Well, maybe she's trying to give you a hint that she WOULD take it kindly. That she wouldn't be so displeased at getting a note like that from you, or flowers, maybe some candy. Maybe you need to turn it around, try it, see what happens. You DO like her, don't you?"

The look of burning despair in the non-com's eyes was answer enough.

"But our stations . . ."

"Gil, maybe she doesn't think that's all that important. The war changed a lot of that, you know. After all, you can't say Goniff is of Meghada's 'station', yet that's as real as it comes. The Reverend doesn't seem to act as if you are below his station, and I doubt that's just because of his being a minister. No, you need to plan this out just like we did during the war, a real campaign, see if you can't turn her little 'hint' into something you can both be happy about."

It took a lot more talking, and encouraging, but slowly the lanky Sergeant Major was starting to get a look of trying to plan, think through a situation. In Garrison's mind, that had to be better than the sheer panic he'd seen there when Rawlins first appeared at his door. Now, just to short-circuit whatever the guys had in mind next for the hapless man they all had made a part of the family, along with making his life an occasional torment.

"You did WHAT??!"

Garrison just couldn't believe the guys would go THIS far. He turned to look at Actor, fuming, "you at least should have had more sense! Luring the both of them to the old mill and locking them in together! And this was last night???! They must be frantic, never mind furious and embarrassed and humiliated and a hell of a lot more!! The Reverend must be in Ben Miller's office right now filing a missing person report, maybe charges!"

Actor had an amused smile on his face. "I did not know about this before this morning, Craig. However, it would appear the men DID speak with Reverend Standish about this before hand, and he was, quite amazingly, in favor of this rather outrageous action. Something about "if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain," I believe they told me. And Ben Miller is aware, as well, though perhaps not so confident of a positive outcome as the Reverend. However, I thought perhaps you and Meghada might just wander by the mill and release them? I believe there was a jug of water in there, and a bottle of wine, and a small basket of food, but still . . ."

And so, Craig and Meghada made their way to the old dilapidated mill, long unused, and undid the latch that blocked the door.

"Hello?" Craig called, "anyone here?"

"'Ey, Craig. Just in time. Wanted to ask if you and the others would stand up with us once the bans are read? We decided to get married, me and Rebecka."

The lanky Sergeant Major had a broad smile on his homely face, almost a wicked gleam in his eye as he picked the straw off his jacket, a blushing Rebecka brushing her skirts clear of more of the same.

"Married?" Meghada queried.

"Aye, finally figured it out tween the two of us. W'at do they say, 'a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou - that's paradise enough' or something like that. Oh, and thank the lads for the basket; came in 'andy it did," handing over the empty basket, wine bottle just as empty as the jug of water, and she had to grin at that wink she got from him, the one echoed by Miss Rebecka Standish, soon to be Mrs. Gil Rawlins.

Later, after getting a thundering scold of her own from the stern green-eyed man, one echoing the one she'd heard him delivering, at a rather higher volume, down the hall, she'd sighed, "if that last hadn't worked, what do you think they had in mind next, Craig?"

Garrison shuddered, "Meghada, there are some things just too awful to contemplate, and that's one of them!" And she couldn't really argue with him.


End file.
